


Just One More

by HappyHour



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gambling Addiction, M/M, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyHour/pseuds/HappyHour
Summary: There is more than one way to settle a debt with a shady casino manager.





	Just One More

Smokescreen was grateful that he was made to bend over. That was one less face to look at as the hands were groping at his doors, grabbing them a bit too forcefully. He was relieved that Praxians were in a bit of demand. The protruding doors and hood, the slim figure, the crest, all came down to what was generally accepted as good physical qualities when looking for someone to stick their spike in.

Smokescreen caught his breath as he felt that happening, not much prep, apparently the manager was just a bit too eager for his valve. Hopefully that meant that he would also be come quickly, Smokescreen felt the decor in the office was garish, that whoever that he had hired as an interior decorator had either been the lowest bidder or plagued with requests of whatever the manager felt was “fitting”.

Maybe it was fitting. He certainly did seem to have a thing for slightly clashing colors as he ran his hands down Smokescreen’s sides, coming to the bumper. A grab from under it with some pull to it was the unspoken command to arch back. Smokescreen could no longer use his hands to support his weight so he pulled back completely, seated on the manager as he was still keeping the hurried pace.

Smokescreen had a hard time adjusting his balance, never really given a bit of a breather to do so as the hands were now firmly gripping the hood, keeping Smokescreen’s back close to the managers. He could also feel himself heating up, apparently this new position was hitting something sensitive in his valve. He grimaced as he realized he would overload soon.

Maybe this new position was for some sort of purpose. He looked forwards, trying to find anything that could perhaps be a concealed camera. There was simply too many items strewn about the office, any one of them could be looking at them and recording every single detail. How Smokescreen was bouncing with each thrust, how the doors twitched or maybe even with high enough resolution to capture every single fold of his valve lips as the spike was thrust in and out of him repeatedly.

But even thinking how badly he was being exploited did nothing for his growing arousal. He shivered, afraid of how close he was despite the circumstances. He tried holding on, tried not giving the manager the satisfaction of having gotten him to overload, but he felt like the more he struggled the harder it got.

It was a sudden feel of something small and wet at the edge of one of his doors that broke the floodgates. He faintly realized that his door had been licked as he felt the overload washing over him, swallowing a moan knowing it was very possible that the room was not soundproof. At least he had never opened his spike cover, he didn’t want to dirty himself more with his own transfluid, even though he could get some certain satisfaction for soiling the office floor.

It took only few more thrusts, now far more hurried as Smokescreen had already overloaded, for the manager to overload as well. He didn’t care about the noise, moaning disgustingly as resting his chin on Smokescreen’s shoulder, making him almost flinch away from the ugly reminder of what had just happened. He felt the spike leaving him soon after, having emptied into him. Smokescreen hurriedly ran his hand over his valve, catching the globs of surface lubricants and transfluid before closing, looking rather clean enough. He flicked his hand, throwing off some of the bigger and more noticeable globs onto the office floor. He could at least soil it that way.

He felt disappointed in himself for knowing how to look presentable so soon after an interface.

He stood up after the manager had, who was unabashedly stretching with his own spike cover still open, and still erect. Smokescreen steeled himself, trying not to break down at the thought of having to suck that spike as well. But the manager just turned around.

“Well?” Smokescreen asked, not comfortable with the silence. He just wanted this over with.

“Is that all you can think about?” The manager asked. Smokescreen did not do him the favor of answering, simply just standing tall, looking far more cleaner in comparison.

The manager tilted his head just slightly, then sighed. “Very well, we can call the matter settled for now. You don’t have to worry about my goons denting your frame or your pretty door wings. I do so want to see them in perfect condition next time they twitch like that when you get off on my spike.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Smokescreen said and turned around.

“Just tell yourself that when you’re playing at my slots.” The manager managed to say before Smokescreen got out of earshot, his audials soon getting hammered with the sound of dice being thrown, the loud talk at the cards tables and the endless and repeating cadence of said slot machines.


End file.
